


Remembrance

by Analinea



Series: Living Without Your Name [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, I honestly don't think there's anything else to tag, It's a three tags story, M/M, Past Character Death, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analinea/pseuds/Analinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac comes back to Beacon Hills, and finds himself an unexpected home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> This story was supposed to be way more descriptive and day-after-day, so longer, but I found that I couldn't write more than two sentences with this in mind, so I did what I do when I block on a writing thing, I try to look at it at an other angle. 
> 
> And then I listened to [Remembrance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeYke08Xuws) and tried to write a story that would feel like listening to this song. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It goes like this: Isaac wakes up one morning, looks around him, and wonders how he got here. Wonders, if anyone was to tell this story, where they would start. At the tale of a creature of legend dragging teenagers into a world that has no happy endings? But that's not right, is it, since he's happy as he's ever been now.

So maybe it would need to start right then, and go back to explain some things. Yes, movie style, why not? So it goes like this:

 

Isaac wakes up that one morning, looks around him at the blue room he's in, walls he wishes now he'd known before all went to hell, board bare of the papers usually pinned to it. It's good, it means there's nothing to investigate lately.

He breathes in a scent that's become familiar in a different way than in the past. He turns his head on the smooth surface under his cheek that moves at the rhythm of calm breathing.

“Imma no' crush'g you?” Isaac sleepily slurs. When he receives no response, he lazily blinks and twist his head enough to see the underside of a pale jaw, his own throat extending until he can see closed eyes and peaceful expression.

Isaac stares for a second, listens to the tranquil heartbeat underneath his ear, marvels at the sight. It's an unusual one.

Stiles is never sleeping like that. Not since Isaac is here to witness his nights, not since Scott started spending half of his weeks watching over him, probably not since long before anyone could attest to it.

When Stiles wakes up and they have breakfast, Isaac tells him about it. The human stops chewing for a second, thinks, then chuckles.

“Looks like you're my new weight blanket, asswolf,” he says. Isaac pretends to take offense on the nickname like he does everyday. He thinks, why the hell not, Stiles makes a very good mattress after all.

 

If he were to tell this story, Isaac would start by cutting off the unnecessary, boring, everyday life bits. Packing up. Waiting two hours in the airport. The silent car trip to Beacon Hills. Its empty hours, or full of only tiredness and anguish.

What's important is arriving alone, making the phone call to Scott to confirm that he's here and just wants to sleep his jet lag off, and knocking at this door.

Isaac heard that in the past few months, Stiles has not been alone once, Scott or the Sheriff relaying to keep an eye on the teen. Isaac heard it in Stiles' voice, when he finally called, asking “Can I stay at yours for a bit?”, wondering if it was a good idea even as the words left his mouth, even as Stiles stayed silent before saying, “Yeah, yeah you can.”

Isaac sees it when the door opens, and they stand face to face and silent for a long moment. Just looking at each other, trying to work over how they're supposed to interact now that they're really in each other's presence.

All that was left unsaid after Isaac left is suddenly here between them. It's unbearable, so Isaac opens his mouth and says: “You look like shit.”

Stiles snorts, opens the door wider. The heavy spell is broken. Isaac goes in, they exchange “hi”s and “how are you”s, and Stiles stands in the doorway to the guest bedroom awkwardly explaining that he cleaned it and changed the sheets, Isaac answers with a thank you as he falls on the bed. He's asleep in a second.

 

Everything is peaceful and quiet for a while, but it's still worth mentioning. It's seeing the Pack again, the whole Pack. What is defined as the whole Pack nowadays. They look almost good, ghosts under their eyes but strong smiles on their faces. Even Derek is here, and what do you know, he looks better than anyone else here.

It's peaceful breakfasts, slow days staying inside until it's not so hot out that the tar melts. It's laughing summer evenings surrounded by friends. It's worried looks thrown each other's ways, like a strange game of ball where you send the concern at the next person.

It's quiet nights, Stiles and Isaac in separate rooms, not really talking to each other. Talking, yes, joking around, playing pretend. The play is called Nothing Went Wrong, by Denial, and they're really, really good at it. Isaac thinks that sometimes they even edge on flirting with each other, but that's wrong.

That's wrong because it will bring out things that are best left buried, like the memory of a dead girl standing between them whose name is still forbidden on some lips. That's wrong because it could be right, but none of them can forget, and there's too much they should say to make anything work.

So they stay silent, and they wait for the breakdown. It's the only way they know how to do things, didn't the last year prove that?

 

Everything peaceful quiet. Until it finally breaks down, the dam of their emotions. It's not with words, shouts, yells. Not with fists, broken things thrown against the walls. It's not with needy hands and kisses either. That...All that's for later.

It's with sobbed whispers. The shouts are in their head, the only need is to let it all out, they are the broken things.

Isaac briefly wonders if it was a good idea to come back. To come to live in this house when it hurts them both. When Stiles is just starting to recover.

Isaac doesn't blame Stiles for her death, never really has. He was angry, yes, and looking for someone to put the blame on. But it's still hard, sometimes, to forget the way the Nogitsune looked. It's still hard, sometimes, but just because it is. He lost someone he loved and he left.

Stiles blames himself, still. Blames the world, angry at everything but not daring to show it because if he does...If he does, it's memories of twisted swords and poisonous words. Stiles wants people to shout, to hit, but knows he couldn't stand it if it happened.

It starts almost silently, just the sound of cracks opening in the walls they made so much effort to build. It's “I think I might love you, but I can't.”, and Isaac looking at the ceiling in the darkness of the evening saying, “Why couldn't we?”.

There's a long list of reasons they can't. But what are lists to human hearts?

They fall asleep like that, next to each other on the bed, not touching. Isaac knows the next day won't be quiet anymore.

 

Waiting for a summer storm to break is the worst part of it. The air is heavy, the anticipation makes you nervous, it's so hot out you just want the water to start falling. Cleaning. The lightning and thunder are just echoes of your pain, rattling your bones, making you feel alive.

It's start with silence. The pressure builds up inside Stiles ribcage, Isaac can tell. Words, words, they're both good at using them to cover up the hurt, twisting them to hurt, but when it comes to really say anything they quit.

“I can't do this anymore,” and it grinds in second but the car is gaining speed already. “You're here, and we don't say anything, but I don't know how you can stand it- me- it.”

“It's not your fault,” Isaac answers, chewing lazily on a piece of bread like he doesn't know what this is leading to.

“Stop- would you all stop saying that?” Stiles hisses angrily, looking down at the table with his white knuckled hands on top. He leans on his arms, veins bulging up. Isaac would hide the fine porcelain if he thought it was close -and if he knew where it was- because something is going to break.

“Why did you come here?”

Isaac thinks about the McCall house with invisible last words written all over the walls, the Argent apartment with a closed door to an empty room, Derek's empty loft he was kicked out of. He thinks about people tiptoeing around him, delicate, careful, tactful, and it makes him want to throw up.

And then he thinks of a new warmth in his heart, but he can't say any of it. Stiles wouldn't believe him if he did anyway, because he's incapable of believing someone could feel good around him now.

He's tired, suddenly. He searches for the best way to set this off, because he doesn't have the patience to wait for things to blow up. He wants to be done with it so they can move on.

So he opens his mouth, says “You keep the scarf I sent you where you can see it.”, and then he takes a breath and says “I love you”.

 

The lightning strikes, Stiles takes a step back with anger written all over his face, thunder breaks, Stiles takes the empty bowl in front of him and thrusts it at the nearest wall with a yell. He takes another step back, hands on his head. Isaac stays right where he is, sitting at the table.

“I'm not her,” Stiles whispers under his breath, avoiding Isaac's eyes. “I'm not her, what _am_ I?” He drops his hands, finally meets Isaac's look. “You can't love me, you love _her_!” His voice cracks.

“Love is very complicated, but Stiles, it's not a one time thing. Our hearts are not set to stop loving after being broken.” Isaac calmly explains, but Stiles shakes his head.

“No, no, we're not _allowed_ to love each other, we're _not_. She's dead and it's my fault,” he starts shouting, “and we can't do that to her! We can't forget her like that, we can't replace her! I can't replace her, Isaac!” Stiles starts to sound like he's panicking. 

“You're not. We won't forget her, and you'll never be her replacement,” and Isaac is loosing his calm because he's reacting to the anxiety and sadness and too many other scents in the room, but he tries to keep his voice low and slow. “Stiles, we have the right to be happy again, she wouldn't want it any other way.”

“Bu- but _I_ don't! I don't have the right! She-” 

Stiles abruptly stop as Isaac as gets up so quickly that his chair falls back. He's had enough.

“Say it,” he starts in a low, dangerous tone. “Say it!” he insists, louder. Stiles looks at him through the tears pooling in his eyes and shakes his head again, staying silent. Isaac steps closer and the human doesn't back down. “Say her name!” Isaac finally shouts.

“Only if you say it too,” Stiles replies with a deadly calm that contrasts sharply with his panic from seconds before. Isaac jumps, thinks that he has, he _has_. Has he? Or maybe he only let himself think about it in dreams. Stiles' face contorts with something close to disgust, he closes in on Isaac so they're only a breath apart, and he hisses viciously, “I'm. Not. Her,”, and then he shouts again, fists starting to pound on Isaac's chest, “You can't love me!” 

Isaac gently grips Stiles' wrists, lets his own tears fall down as Stiles starts painfully sobbing.

Thunder sometimes sounds just like the earth is cracking. The heaves and whimpers and half understandable words, the two bodies sliding together to the floor and how they shake and tremble with each new tear, that's not thunder. That's heavy rain pretending to be an earthquake. That's the storm before the calm.

 

In the middle of the night, a few days later, Isaac is awaken by a soft sound. Stiles doesn't sleep much, he knows it, witnessed it. Isaac doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, just listens. It's short breaths and quiet exhales that sounds like they should be words. Until he gets it.

A whisper louder than the other, voice broken and the light scent of tears, delicately said like it could shatter in million glass pieces, “Allison.”

It's silent after that, and Isaac moves to drape his body over Stiles' like a shield that could protect him from the outside, like a weight that could keep him from drifting into the darkness. He opens his mouth a few times. “Allison,” he finally whispers back.

 

It goes like this: Isaac wakes up one morning, looks around him, and wonders how he got here. Wonders, if anyone was to tell this story, where they would start.

Better start right here, right then. The past is what defines us, shapes us, we are the sum of our lives. But once you've understood that, the important thing is what you do with what you've learned about yourself. The important thing is not to live in the hours long gone.

So it goes like this:

Isaac wakes up on morning, Stiles peacefully sleeping under his cheek, walls inside him taken down but floor under him solid, blue walls around him that he starts to call home like no others before. He closes his eyes again. He's happy. He holds on to that feeling. He's happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Anything between a ":)" and a full on analysis of this fic would absolutely make my day, and I feed off kudos!
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://kinsbournescream.tumblr.com), where you can flail with me about stuff (and one of these days I'll take prompts, but right now I have like 10 different story ideas T.T)


End file.
